Wishing on a Star
by Herbologist
Summary: On the morning after the battle, Prof. Aurora Sinistra mourns the death of the man she loved. While everybody else is celebrating, she wanders through the castle aimlessly, and finally makes a discovery that gives her new hope. Snape / Sinistra.
1. A Paradox at Dawn

**Disclaimer: ****It goes without saying of course, but I do not claim to own any of the Harry Potter characters or their magical universe created by J.K. Rowling. I'm writing this story purely for fun and not for profit.**

**A/N: **This story owes some of its inspiration to the work of these other authors:

"Why Not" and "No Matter the Cost" by NorthAngel27, "A Valentine's Quartett" by the Snapettes (Occlumency)

Especially the first two, in my mind, have become almost part of canon, and I would be unable to write Snape / Sinistra without that influencing me. They are great stories and I recommend you do check them out.

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**A Paradox at Dawn**

The early morning sun rising over Hogwarts illuminated a scene of destruction and chaos. The grounds were strewn with the lifeless bodies of different creatures, and the castle itself had suffered badly. The Astronomy Tower, however, was still standing, casting its mighty shadow over the courtyard below. High up on its viewing platform, a small female figure could be seen, leaning over the railing, while the morning breeze tore at her robes and long hair.

Professor Aurora Sinistra leaned into the wind and closed her eyes. Her stomach tried to tell her that she should be at the feast, along with everybody else, but she needed to be alone, and was as oblivious to its rumbling as she was to the dark rings under her eyes, and the ache in her back and legs. Like everybody else she bore the signs of a night without sleep, a night of fighting, of fear, of tears, followed by a victory they had hardly been able to hope for.

Victory. You-Know-who was no more. The horrors of the past year, when the Death Eaters had ruled the school, were all over. And yet, to her, it felt not like the beginning, but the end of all hope. The brightest star in her life had fallen. The emptiness inside her was as overpowering as a mighty black hole, sucking up all happiness, and clumping it into a mass of infinite heaviness.

She let go of her tears, which flooded from her eyes in hot streams, but offered no consolation, no comfort, no release. She had known all along that Severus was on their side. She knew him better than any of her colleagues, of course, but, nevertheless, she was disappointed by how readily they had all believed in his apparent betrayal. Unlike her, they failed to see how he was actually protecting them from the worst. As a true Ravenclaw, however, she was wiser than to show her loyalty and support of him openly. Nothing could have been more dangerous to him. He was walking a thin line as it was, keeping up the appearance of a loyal Death Eater, running the school in his Dark Lord's best interest, while preventing the worst acts of cruelty towards the students. The best she could do was not to cause him any extra trouble, which was far more than could be said of the rest of the faculty, who made no attempt to hide their loathing and disapproval of his leadership. '_You always insisted that you would have to go it alone. You never relied on anybody, and you were right_,' she thought.

She wiped away her tears with the sleeve of her midnight blue robes, and let out a big sob. She had spent some of the happiest moments of her life up here on the Astronomy Tower, and they had not been due to her love of stargazing. As she ran her hand over the cool stone making up the wall next to her, images of the dark young Potions Master backing her against that very wall flooded her mind, images of him kissing her passionately, while his graceful hands roamed over her body, and his intense black eyes burned holes into her. Now all she had left of him were memories, but in those memories, he would always live on.

For several years, they had shared a secret affair, and the sex had been very good indeed. But while her feelings for him had grown into much more over time, to him, it seemed, it had never been more than an arrangement of convenience. The year when You-Know-Who returned, he had broken it off, without even saying a word to the effect, but leaving her in no doubt that it was over. And while he reverted to treating her with the same cool formality as all his other colleagues, she had been pining away for him. Her heart had fluttered every time he swept past her in the corridors, every time she heard his deep, resonant voice in a faculty meeting, every time their eyes briefly met when they passed each other in the library. In fact, she had spent unnecessary amounts of time in the library, waiting for the odd chance to be alone with him. And all those years, she had never given up hope that, one day, once those dark times were over, they could be together again. Now the day had arrived, but her hopes were shattered.

Slowly, she descended the stairs leading down from the tower, and wandered through the castle's corridors, aimlessly. But when she suddenly found herself in front of the headmaster's office, she realised she had wanted to come here all along. The gargoyle was lying toppled over on the floor. It just gave a faint moan when she stepped over it, and climbed up the spiralling staircase. The door to the office stood half-way open. Hesitantly, and with the sense of a child doing something forbidden, she entered.

She had not been inside this room since Dumbledore's death. Severus had guarded the place like a personal sanctuary. Even faculty meetings had been held in the staff room, and, as far as she was aware, none of the teachers had set foot in here during his term of office. Had he been worried that an indiscretion from one of the portraits might give him away? But now, it seemed that access was free for all.

Taking a look around, she noted how little had changed since the time that Dumbledore had resided there. On a table in the corner, the same curious silver instruments still whirred and puffed quietly, Fawkes' perch still stood behind the desk, even though the phoenix had long left Hogwarts, and Dumbledore's heavy stone Pensieve rested on a sideboard beneath the window. It appeared as if Severus had left everything exactly as it was. '_You never felt like you belonged here, did you? To you, it always continued to be Dumbledore's office,_' she mused.

There was little that would have told you that a Potions Master had occupied the office lately, none of the jars and bottles containing slimy substances, or pickled plants and animals, that had once adorned the walls in Severus' dungeon office. Except perhaps for the fact that Dumbledore's display cabinet, which he'd used to store collected memories in his time, now held a collection of potions bottles. She peered through the glass pane to read the labels, written in Severus' edgy, crowded script: _"Dreamless Sleep", "Strengthening Draught", "Essence of Dittany", "Felix Felicis", "Blood Repleneshing Potion", "Mind Sharpening Potion", "Veritas Serum".... _

'_Of course, he would have kept a stock of all the essentials_,' she thought. Self-sufficiency would have been of essence for him during the past year. If only he had taken some of that Felix Felicis potion the night before, perhaps he would still be alive. There was also a tiny vial, containing a clear liquid, whose label did not bear the same handwriting as the others, but instead had the words "_Phoenix Tears_" emblazoned upon it in big sweeping lines. She wondered whether it was Dumbledore's hand.

The only other addition to the room was the large portrait right behind the throne-like chair. The engraved gold plaque at the bottom of the frame identified it as Dumbledore's. The occupant, however, was absent, as were all the other headmasters and headmistresses of times long past. Apparently, they, too, had gone to the Great Hall, where the feast was.

She bent over the intricately carved desk beneath the portrait, and took a look at the heavy, leather bound book that lay open upon it. It appeared very, very old, and was written in a dialect of Runes that she could not decipher. What had Severus been reading about so close to his death? She brushed across the pages with her fingertips, almost tenderly, as if she could somehow connect to him by touching the parchment where his hand had rested so recently. A black eagle quill was lying on the desk beside the book. She took it, and lovingly ran the soft plumes across her palm. She would keep this as a token to remind her of the beautiful hands that had used it. Closing her eyes, she pressed it against her chest, remembering how those hands had once cupped and gently squeezed her breasts, while his lips breathed hot kisses behind her ear and his arousal pressed into the small of her back...

She was suddenly pulled out of her reverie by a familiar voice, addressing her from behind.

"Ah, Aurora, reminiscing about the past?"

She spun around, slightly embarrassed, and hoping her facial expression had not given away the nature of her thoughts. Dumbledore had returned to his portrait, and was smiling at her benevolently.

And then, it struck her. Shouldn't there be a portrait of Severus? According to Minerva, Dumbledore's portrait had magically appeared within less than an hour of his death. And ancient tradition had it that everyone who ever had held the post of headmaster, no matter for how short a time, would be preserved to posterity in the same fashion. Could Hogwarts really be so ungrateful, to not grant Severus this one last honour? Feelings of outrage and indignation erupted in her heart at the thought of this disregard for the man who had given his life to their cause.

"Albus, why does Severus not have a portrait like you do?" she asked, bitterly.

"Because someone saved him, I suppose," the old wizard explained calmly, "and I'm glad to see that it was you, Aurora."

Whatever answer she had expected, this was not even remotely close. Dumbstruck, it took her several seconds to process the information.

"Unfortunately, I think you're wrong, Albus. I don't even recall seeing him last night," she responded wearily, and still somewhat confused. "And I don't think I was under the Imperius curse either."

"Ah, that's because you haven't done it yet," Dumbledore replied, with his blue eyes displaying their trademark twinkle.

Unlike most other people, Aurora had never had any difficulty following Dumbledore's often mysterious statements. He rarely spelled things out for you, a habit she suspected had been acquired from years of teaching. But as a Ravenclaw, she had to be good at solving riddles, or she would not even be able to get into her common room. And so it took her only moments to understand what he meant.

The only possible answer, of course, was time travel. As the school's Astronomy teacher, the mysteries of space and time fell into her remit, and she had always devoted a lesson to the subject in her OWLS class. She could almost hear her own voice in her head, as she lectured to a crowd of mildly interested students.

'_Time travel is dangerous, as it creates havoc in the space-time continuum in ways that could easily drive yourself and others insane. Imagine if you suddenly found yourself opposite your doppelganger from the future! It is therefore essential that time travellers remain unobserved. You also have to be extremely careful with your actions, as you could easily change the course of the future in unpredictable and undesirable ways. Even with the greatest precaution, any change you bring about leads to the creation of paradoxical phenomena. You will find things that are incompatible with your understanding of the world, and you won't be able to explain them until later, when you have actually undertaken the journey. It is for this reason that time travel has always been strictly regulated by the Ministry. For instance, you were never allowed to go back by more than one day. And lately, the authorities have decided that the risks outweigh the benefits, and that it is best to stop the practice altogether._..'

So was this one of said paradoxes? Was there no portrait, because, in the future, she would go back to change the past? Was there no portrait, because Severus was actually alive? But to move back along the axis of time, you needed a Time Turner, and the Ministry had destroyed them all. Or had they?

"Albus, don't tell me you keep an unauthorised Time Turner hidden somewhere?" she asked.

"Ah, hidden is not the right word," the old headmaster said, barely able to suppress a grin. "But I did feel it was prudent to keep one at hand. Often times you will find that the best way to conceal something, is to keep it in plain view."

Then it dawned on her. She approached the little table in the corner, where Dumbledore's collection of weird and wonderful instruments continued to buzz and oscillate innocently, and sure enough, sitting inconspicuously in their middle, was an elaborately engraved silver Time Turner. She was not at all surprised that the old headmaster's little secret had gone unnoticed. Few people ever gave Dumbledore's contraptions a second look, assuming them to be pointless fancies of an eccentric old man, whose sanity had been questioned by many.

With a sense of awe, she reached out to remove the precious instrument from amongst the other curios on the table, and placed the chain around her neck. Now she just had to figure out a means of helping Severus in a way that would not jeopardise any of the events of the past hours.

"Albus, would phoenix tears be able to cure the sort of injuries that Severus sustained?"

"Indeed they would," the shrewd old wizard confirmed, his face beaming.

Aurora walked up to the cabinet in the corner, and took the little vial from its shelf, placing it into a pocket of her robes along with the bottles of Blood Replenishing Potion, Strengthening Draught, and Felix Felicis. Before she could slip out of the room, Dumbledore's painting called after her.

'Aurora, I don't need to remind you to be careful, do I?'

'Don't worry, Albus, I know what I'm doing.'

The sound of merry chatter and clinking goblets could still be heard through the doors of the Great Hall, as she walked past them on her way down towards the Shrieking Shack, and she felt confident that her absence would not be noticed.

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**A/N: Please review. This could stand as a one-shot, but I might continue...**


	2. Wounded at Midnight

**A/N:**

Dear readers, thankyou for your wonderful comments and encouragement. I wasn't sure whether to contine with this, but there really is nothing more motivating than putting a chapter out there and receiving lots of feedback. My mind went into creative overdrive, so that I now have some great ideas for turning this into a proper story.

I'm a slow writer, and I'm back to working full time as well, so I apologise if it takes me a while to update. There is one way you can make write faster though: Keep clicking that review button, it really works!

**Very special thanks to Mark Darcy for beta reading and debugging my English, to Fede88 for translating this for Italian readers at lightning speed, and to ZairaAlbereo for honest criticism and hours of fruitful discussions.**

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**2 Wounded at Midnight**

In plain sunlight, there was nothing eerie about the Shrieking Shack. It was just a skew-whiff, run down building, not exactly inviting, but certainly not sinister. And yet, for some reason she could not quite identify, Aurora could not bring herself to open the door. Reason told her that, because of what she was about to do, there should be nothing on the other side of that door, no body, no blood, nothing scary. Perhaps it was superstitious, but she decided she preferred not to find out. And so she remained outside, as she turned the intricate dials of the silver device dangling around her neck.

She had never used a Time Turner before. It was the most wondrous experience imaginable. With each turn, the sun approached the horizon to the east. She watched, fascinated, as it disappeared, the sky darkened, and the stars sped across the firmament, heading in the wrong direction. When the position of the constellations indicated midnight, she stopped spinning the dials, still standing outside the Shrieking Shack, hesitantly, and wondering how exactly to proceed. She was abruptly pulled out of her contemplation as the door flew open, almost hitting her in the face, making her jump deeper into the shade of the building.

A moment later, the shadow of a tall, thin figure appeared, stalking away from her, and the door closed with a bang. The creature had a bald head, as white as ivory, and long, bony fingers that did not look like they belonged to a living being. A massive snake was curled around its shoulders. When she realised who it was, a cold chill ran down her back. It was him, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the most evil and dangerous dark wizard of all time. Aurora felt the urge to Disapparate on the spot, but, thankfully, he had not noticed her. When he disappeared into the forest, she breathed a sigh of relief. And then she realised what must have just happened inside the shack. Severus – This was her moment to act.

She wiped clean a small corner of the grimy window with the sleeve of her robe, to allow her to peer inside. The scene that presented itself to her there, illuminated by the faint glow of someone's wand, nearly made her heart stop.

The news of how and where the headmaster had died had spread like wildfire amongst the crowd gathered in the Great Hall. She had picked up the crucial bits from the conversation of a group of students sitting across the table, and it had made her feel so faint and nauseated, that she had needed to leave the feast, and retreat to a place of fresh air and solitude. But seeing it with her own eyes was so much worse. Severus was lying on the floor, convulsing, in a puddle of his blood. His hand was desperately clutching his neck. '_He must be in so much pain,'_ she thought, and it broke her heart.

Harry was kneeling beside the dying man, his two friends standing behind him. She watched as Severus gave his memories to the boy who, consequently, would live. Impatiently, she waited for the kids to leave, but they just stood there and watched, shell-shocked by what they had just witnessed, or unwilling to help because of their hatred for the wizard on the floor. She wanted to run inside, shake them, and tell them to go get Madame Pomfrey. But she knew that she must not allow them to see her. And so she waited. With each second that trickled by, her anxiety grew, until it reached almost unbearable levels. Severus had stopped moving, and was lying stretched out with his eyes closed. What if she was too late? What if he was already dead? The voice of reason inside her head told her that it would be all right, that since there was no portrait, she must have succeeded. But her heart did not want to listen, and was beating against her ribs like a desperate little bird trapped inside its cage.

Finally, the children disappeared somewhere at the back of the room. _Was there a back door?_ Relieved from her enforced idleness, Aurora stormed inside, the little vial of phoenix tears at the ready. She dropped to her knees beside Snape's prone form, and undid the collar and tie of his robes with shaking hands, exposing the deep puncture wounds in his neck, from which blood still trickled in a steady flow. She let a few drops of the pearly liquid drop onto them. When they touched his skin, they sizzled, evaporating into silvery smoke, and the wounds simply disappeared. Amazed, she let her hand stroke along the perfectly pale skin, which now was miraculously intact, and marvelled at the healing power contained inside the little vial. There were a few drops left, which she poured into his half-open mouth, before sitting back, and waiting with nervous anticipation for him to move.

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If anything, Severus Snape was surprised at how easy it was to die. Admittedly, the pain that spread from his neck throughout his body was horrendous, but soon that, too, would be over. The only thing that mattered was that he had accomplished his mission, albeit with his last breath, and delivered Dumbledore's message.

And so, with one last look into the green eyes of the young wizard bent over him, he allowed himself to let go. His muscles, until a moment ago seized up and twitching uncontrollably from the poison coursing through his veins, now felt limp, and he had lost command over them. His senses, too, seemed to have shut down, but the image of those green eyes persisted in front of his inner eye.

Only now, they belonged to a beautiful young woman with flaming red hair. Her face was beaming, and her laughter, light and pure as bird song, reverberated through his head. How grateful he was that it was her, accompanying him on this last journey, rather than any of the other faces normally haunting his dreams. He felt weightless and dizzy, and his head was spinning. It was as if he was dancing with her, twirling and twirling, silly and worry-free like two children.

Finally, the pain stopped, and was replaced by a pleasant feeling of warmth. He could feel gentle hands touching his neck. She was actually touching him! It was wonderful, and he just hoped that she would stay there for all eternity. He could also taste something sweet in his mouth. Was it possible? Could she have kissed him? Eager to find out, he realised that he could actually move his eyelids again, or at least he had the illusion that he could, and decided to open them to take a proper look. When he did, soft light flooded his pupils, and, slowly, the blurred figure in front of him came into focus. But once he recognised her features, he was dismayed.

"No... Not you..." he croaked.

He had still counted her amongst the living, and it pained him to see her here. Another life lost. Somehow, he felt as if he was to blame. She didn't look good. Her hair was dishevelled, her face ashen, and her eyes seemed puffy. He only hoped that she hadn't suffered.

She looked at him, slightly offended, but didn't say a word.

He cleared his throat to regain command over his voice. "How did you die?" he inquired, still sounding a little hoarse.

At those words, she suddenly broke into laughter, a laughter that sounded unexpectedly light-hearted.

"I'm not dead, Severus, and neither are you."

What? He started to feel irritated. What was going on? Where was Lily, and what was _she_ doing here?

"What the hell are you doing here, Aurora?" he growled.

"It's marvellous, isn't it? The healing power of phoenix tears..." she chirped, while holding up a small vial he recognised as belonging in his office.

Before he could protest, she had put another bottle to his lips, and poured its content into his mouth. He had no choice but to swallow, in order to avoid choking. And if he needed anything more to convince him that he was, in fact, alive, the metallic taste of Blood Replenishing Potion did just that. His eyes were shooting daggers at her.

"Merlin's beard! Can you not let a man die in peace?" he snapped as soon as he regained his breath.

"And here I was, thinking you would be grateful..." she replied with a trace of her own dry humour. "Never mind... I'm sure a Potions Master like you could brew something up to get you where you want to be with less pain and more dignity. At least now you have a choice..."

He wasn't sure he wanted to have that choice. He had just made his peace with the world, and was not at all pleased to find himself thrown back into it. For a moment, he remained silent, while he tried to remember what he had been up to just before, and what he was supposed to do next.

Ah, yes. There still was a battle to be fought.

"Here, drink this," she said, pulling out another bottle from her robes.

He quickly snatched it out of her hand, before she had a chance to assault him with it, and took a look at the label.

"What gave you the right to raid my potions cupboard?" he scolded, but in a tone that bordered on conciliatory. His own Strengthening Draught - This, he approved of. He uncorked the bottle, and took swig from it, before offering it to her. "You look like you could use some yourself."

She vigorously shook her head, a look of disgust on her face. "No thank you, I'm perfectly fine."

"Suit yourself," he grumbled, and, with a shrug, downed the remaining potion.

What followed was a long, awkward silence. She still hadn't answered his question, and he couldn't imagine why a member of staff would stroll into the Shrieking Shack while Hogwarts was fighting the battle of battles. Why on earth would she waste those precious phoenix tears on a Death Eater, to save him from a fate they surely all had hoped for?

Years ago, he had shared a certain degree of intimacy with the attractive young astronomy professor, but he had always wondered what she saw in him, to give herself to him so willingly. And surely, just like the years of working for the Order, that no longer accounted for anything? But now, that question was the least of his worries. He had given Potter his memories, an act of utter desperation that made him cringe now that he remembered it. It should not be too late to stop the boy. He had to get back to his office to intercept Potter before he could use the Pensieve that Dumbledore had left him. Then he would be able to carry on with his original plan.

Finally, he was feeling well enough to get up. He reached into the pocket of his robes to check for his wand, and was pleased to find it still sitting in its usual place. There was a moist, sticky feel to the familiar rough wool of his coat, which made him realise that he was covered in blood, his own blood. He reached for his wand again, this time removing it from his cloak. As he cast a cleansing spell, he was pleased to see that his powers had not suffered. Phoenix tears were a marvellous substance indeed. He still felt a little stiff, and his muscles were aching, but he managed to stand up in one swift motion, and walk towards the door with no more than a slight limp.

"No, no, no, stay here!" she commanded, "what do you think you are doing?"

He turned and stared down at her with a contemptuous glare. "My job," he replied in a tone of stating the obvious.

"You don't understand, Severus. I travelled back in time to save you. You were – I mean, everyone _thinks_ you're dead. The kids saw you die. You can't go out there, and just walk back into Hogwarts as if nothing happened. Besides, before the sun rises, Harry will have killed your dark master, and he won't need your help."

It seemed to take him a moment to fully process the information. Aurora looked up at the towering form of dark wizard standing in front of her, feeling her skin erupt into goose bumps under the intensity of his gaze. She couldn't recall when she had last been this close to him. She stood up, getting herself to eye level with him.

"Are you insinuating that you came back from the future?" he asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. "Would you care to explain how you achieved such a feat?"

Instead of answering his question, she just pointed at the intricate silver pendant dangling from its chain around her neck.

"A Time Turner? Where did you get that?"

"From your office, it was right under your oversized nose," she replied with a smug smile.

A trace of surprise registered on his face. He closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of said nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"Damn that sly old fox..." he mumbled. "Did Albus send you here? Has he found another puppet to do his bidding?"

Aurora felt like she had to defend the old wizard. "I came of my own free will."

"Why? Why me? Were there no other victims worthier of saving?"

"Are you really that daft, Severus? Surely a man of you intellect should have worked it out by now."

"Let me guess... So that you could continue pestering me?"

"Do I really have to spell it out for you? Because I love you!"

He flinched, as if he had been slapped. Aurora cringed inwardly at her own words, embarrassed by how ridiculous they sounded, once she had actually pronounced them. But at the same time she felt relieved at having said it. There it was, out in the open. At least she would not be left wondering for the rest of her life about 'what if'. She wished he would just come back with a sarcastic retort, but he simply looked at her. The probing glare of his black eyes was as uncomfortable as the silence. If only she knew what went on in his head. She could tell there was a lot going on, too much probably.

"What do you expect me to say, Aurora?" he finally spoke. "That I love you, too? I'm not capable of love. Don't make yourself unhappy. You should have left me to die."

She tried not to show how hurt she was by those words, but her cheeks were burning, betraying her best efforts. And at the same time she was afraid, afraid that he would just turn to leave, that she would never see him again.

"Well, you're free to start from scratch, Severus, start a new life. Do you really want to become a lonely bastard all over again? I could come with you, keep you company..." She was glad that she had managed to get that out without her voice shaking.

"Absolutely not. You know I don't enjoy company," he replied coldly.

"There was a time when you seemed to enjoy mine..."

"You heard me, Aurora. I may have had weak moments in the past, but this is not one."

How was it possible that a voice so deep and velvety could deliver words that felt like stabs with a knife? Was that really how he felt about their past affair, about those same memories that she still cherished as the best time of her life? Did he really feel that it was no more than a moment of weakness, a mistake? She had always blamed his difficult role as a spy for his cold behaviour towards her, attributed it to his sense of duty, and the constant danger that he put himself in. But what was his excuse now? Here she was, having just saved his life, willing to follow him wherever he might go, and he had just dismissed her feelings for him and used them to wound her. She felt almost physically sick, her knees felt weak and there was a painful knot in her chest. If only she had some of those phoenix tears left, to stop the haemorrhage inside her heart. But all she had was another bottle of his potions, and she wondered why she had even brought it here. Putting on a brave face, she pulled the little flacon out of her pocket and handed it to him.

"I wish you good luck then, Severus," she said coolly, meeting his eyes without blinking, even though inside she felt like a lamb led to the slaughter.

Snape looked at the item in her hand questioningly, before taking it from her with a curt nod. He raised one eyebrow, as he studied the label with an expression of disdain on his face, and finally slipped the objectionable article into his pocket.

Then he turned on his heel, and, in a whirl of black robes, was gone.


	3. Leaving the Past Behind

**A/N: **

Apologies for the incredibly long delay in updating. I promised that I would never abandon this story, and I haven't. I just haven't had much time to write this year, and when I did have time, the muse was more generous with respect to my other works in progress. But here you are. I won't promise weekly updates, although I'm confident that the next one won't be quite as long... And I should probably give you an indication of where this is going, to help you decide whether it is worth the wait:

This story _will _be a Snape / Sinistra romance, but with a critical look at Snape's character. The character of Severus Snape is all about redemption. At this stage, you might argue that he has paid for the sins of his youth, but he is still bitter, cruel, emotionally unavailable, and terribly self-righteous - something that perhaps isn't entirely his fault, but doesn't exactly make him a candidate for a loving husband. So can he redeem himself on that score, and what will it take?

Thanks to everyone who is still following this, and especially to those who provided their encouragement by reviewing!

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**3 Leaving the Past Behind**

A soft pop could be heard on the deserted street lying shrouded in darkness. Had there been anyone around to witness, the event would have been most disturbing indeed, for with that pop, a tall, angular man seemed to appear out of nowhere, and proceeded towards the entrance of a house with purposeful strides. His long black robes, which looked like a costume from some period film, billowed behind him as he walked. His black hair fell over his shoulders in lank strands, framing a gaunt face, which would have been unpleasant even without the grim expression he was wearing.

But fortunately, there weren't many passers-by in this desolate part of town. The majority of the properties appeared unoccupied. They were small, unassuming Victorian houses, squatting beside each other in a terrace, indistinguishable but for their doors painted in different colours. There was an air of neglect about the area, compounded further by the smell of a blocked sewer that hung in the air. The only other living being around was a scruffy looking fox, sniffing hopefully at a crisp wrapper discarded along the gutter. The presence of the stranger appeared to spook the creature, so that it abandoned its chance of a meal to scurry into a bush.

The sullen-looking man entered one of the houses, the door of which must have been unlocked, as he did not use a key to open it. A moment after he had disappeared inside, a faint glow could be seen flickering behind the windows.

The door led straight into a tiny living room, lined with bookshelves covering every inch of wall space. The dim light revealed a thick layer of dust that covered every surface, and filthy cobwebs hanging in the corners of the ceiling. The enigmatic man was Severus Snape, late Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft, and – still unbeknown to himself – about to become a hero in the world of British wizardkind, a world he had just left behind for good. He stood in front of the fireplace with his hands resting on the mantelpiece, his head hung between his shoulders, staring into the flames licking at the heavy logs piled up therein.

He hated this place, even though it was technically his home. It was filled with memories of an unhappy childhood, lived in poverty and isolation, watching his parents make life miserable for each other, while getting caught in the crossfire of their disintegrating marriage. The only reason he had come here this time was that he had nowhere else to go. And he resented the person who had put him into this situation. Why could she not have left him to his destiny? His destiny of dying on the battlefield, his last mission accomplished, atoning for his sins while at the same time being released from his wretched life? Why did she have to meddle in his affairs?

Love... He really didn't have the time, or the inclination, of dealing with somebody's misguided infatuation. He had only been in love once, which had been the cause of much pain and humiliation. Over the years, he had learned to shut out such feelings, and he appreciated the sense of control it provided him, the ability to focus solely on his duties and intellectual pursuits. He might have indulged in carnal pleasures once in a while, but that certainly didn't mean he had to endure the company of anybody beyond the satisfaction of his physical needs, nor would he ever allow himself to be that vulnerable again.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him of the other inconveniences of being alive. With a contemptuous snort, he tore himself away from the fire, and disappeared through a tiny door between the bookshelves into an even tinier kitchen, which was less inviting still than the living room, as the ubiquitous dust and cobwebs there were added to by grime and a musty smell. He searched through the cupboards, whose hinges creaked accusingly as he opened and shut the doors, but all he found was a mouldy loaf of bread and a pack of biscuits that turned to dust as soon as he touched it. Disgusted, he pulled his face into a grimace. He could have transfigured those things into something more appealing, but certainly wasn't hungry enough for such desperate measures.

His eyes fell onto a dusty green glass bottle left out on the worktop in front of him, still half-full with a dark liquid. As he pulled the cork and sniffed at the opening, the warm, sweet aroma of elf-made wine engulfed his senses. After a brief moment of hesitation, he took a glass from one of the cupboards, casting a cleansing spell on it before he filled it up with the ruby wine. Snape rarely ever drank alcohol. In his mind, it was a contemptible habit that reminded him all too much of his father. But surely, in this situation, having just escaped death by a hair's breadth, a small glass was justifiable, or so he thought as he retreated from the kitchen with his drink.

With a sigh, he let himself sink onto the shabby old sofa in front of the fireplace. The cloud of dust that rose from the threadbare fabric under his weight would have caused almost anybody to sneeze, but, after years of exposure to potions fumes, his nose was used to much worse. Stretching out his legs, he took a large sip of wine, closing his eyes as he felt the liquid run down his throat. It caused a pleasant feeling of warmth to spread out from his stomach, which helped to chase away the chill of death that had crept into his bones.

It was often claimed that being faced with your own mortality gave you a new sense of appreciation for life, but Snape felt nothing but a yawning emptiness. His life had never been enjoyable. In his childhood he had known nothing but deprivation and humiliation, and then, as a young man, there had been a period when he had been consumed by anger, hatred, and fierce ambition, which had only ended up plunging him into an abyss of grief, guilt, and self-loathing, leaving him with a debt that would take a lifetime to repay. Ironically, it had been that very debt that had given his life a sense of purpose and direction for the best part of the last two decades, so much so that now his last duty was fulfilled, he felt completely lost. There was nothing in his life worth living for. He had never known happiness, and very much doubted that he ever would. The thought of possibly having to live up to the sort of age that his predecessor, Albus Dumbledore, had reached, something not at all uncommon for a wizard, with only his own bitterness to keep him company, was enough to tempt him to turn his own wand on himself. But there would have been something decidedly cowardly in that – and a coward was the last thing Snape had ever wanted to be.

After drowning the remainder of the wine, he set the glass down on the rickety low coffee table beside him, where it balanced precariously on top of an impossibly high stack of books. The drink had gone a long way towards assuaging his stomach, but there was something else that bothered him. Running his long fingers through his hair, it still felt somewhat sticky, and he could detect the metallic smell of blood, despite the cleansing spell he had cast on himself earlier. It was one of his greatest annoyances that no spell invented to date could compete with Muggle soap and water as far as personal hygiene went. While many witches and wizards actually enjoyed a bath as much as Muggles did - something to which the existence of a great many potions recipes for magical bath essences bore testimony – Snape would have happily done away with the need to immerse himself in water once in a while. Resigning himself to the fact that, in this situation, it would be unavoidable, he decided to at least get it over and done with quickly. And so it was with a strong feeling of dread that he rose from the sofa, and climbed up the stairs towards the bathroom.

The small room looked just as dreary as he remembered it, with its grimy, broken tiles, the rusty bathtub, and mouldy window frame. The only good thing about it was the mirror above the sink, which had long gone blind, and therefore had the decency not to remind him about how ungenerous nature had been with him as far as physical appearance went.

He vanished what appeared to be a trail of mouse droppings at the bottom of the tub, and turned on the taps. They creaked and gurgled miserably, as if to object to being manipulated in this fashion, but there was no water. As Snape was a wizard, however, it only took a muttered spell to solve that problem.

He undid the many buttons of his clothes with practiced fingers, shedding layer upon layer of garments, before gingerly stepping into his bath. The sensation of the warm water was not entirely unpleasant, and, even though the tub was too small for his long legs to allow him to relax properly, it helped to further restore his life forces. The main objective of this exercise, however, had been to wash his hair. On a small wooden stool beside the bath stood a chipped mug, which had always been used for this purpose. He reached for it, and began to pour water over his head with it until his black mop was thoroughly soaked. Then he used a grey and rather unappealing looking piece of soap from the same stool to work up a lather. It's cheap, aseptic smell was uncomfortably familiar, transporting him back to a time he didn't even know he had memories of.

______

* * *

_"Severus! Look at you, you're all dirty! Quick! Get in the bath! Your father will be home any minute..."_

_The small dark haired boy wanted to protest. He was hungry, and would rather have eaten dinner first, but one look at his mother told him that resistance would be futile. And so he followed her up to the bathroom, and watched as she filled the tub._

_"What are you waiting for? Take your clothes off and jump in!"_

_As he obeyed, he watched her clean his discarded clothes with her wand, wondering why she couldn't do the same with him, whether she just did it to punish him, and whether she knew he had been down to the river again, where he wasn't supposed to play. He hated bathing, especially having his hair washed, mainly because his mother was always in a hurry, not taking care whether the soap got into his eyes nor making much of an effort to be gentle._

_As he was sitting in the tub, stoically bearing his ordeal with his eyes squeezed shut, the door suddenly flew open, and his mother, who had been vigorously scrubbing his scalp, froze. Severus opened his eyes a little bit, despite the danger of the soap stinging them. His father stood in the doorway, a strange look in his eyes. The same foul, fermented smell wafted off him that always told Severus to stay well out of his way. But now he was trapped in the bath. He could tell that his mother was scared._

_"There you are, you slut, hiding from me," his father slurred._

_"Please, Tobias, not now, the boy..."she pleaded._

_But his father didn't seem to have heard her at all. He grabbed her arm, and pulled her up from where she'd been kneeling beside the bath, shoving her out of the door. She gave her son a panicked look over her shoulder._

_"Severus, just finish your bath, okay?"_

_Her voice trembled as she said it, and didn't seem to fit with her words at all. A moment later, he could hear the sound of the door to the adjoining room, his parents' bedroom, then a thud, a muffled cry, a slap, and another one. Then it sounded as if his mother was crying, and he heard some strange grunting noises. He stuck his fingers into his ears as hard as he could, he didn't want to hear. He was afraid. He didn't know exactly what he was afraid of, but he could tell something was not right. Foam was running down his face, so that he had to squeeze his eyes shut to avoid it stinging. He sat there, surrounded by darkness and the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears, the only sensations the sharp smell of the soap, and that of the water getting colder and colder. He started to shiver, hoping his mother would come back to get him out of the bath, but she never came._

_Eventually, he realised that he would have to spend the night in the cold water, unless he made a move, and took care of things himself. Bending over, he tried submerging his head under water, using his hands to wash away the soap from his face and hair. Finally he could open his eyes again. He climbed out of the bath, his teeth chattering, and dried himself off with the old, rough family towel, before slipping back into his same clothes still lying beside the tub, now freshly laundered._

_The house was dark and quiet as he sneaked down the stairs towards the kitchen. His stomach was now so empty that it was almost hurting. There at the kitchen table sat his mum, her head resting in her hands. She looked sad, but he couldn't tell whether she was crying. When she heard him approach, she looked up and smiled, a smile that didn't look as happy as a smile should. He wanted to ask her if everything was alright, but didn't know how to touch on the subject._

_"Severus, time for dinner," she said chirpily, as if nothing had happened, and proceeded to open and close cupboards, collecting a plate and some bread, while he sat down at the table._

_When she finally placed his meal in front of him, he was thrilled. This was a much better dinner than usual, as the customary stale bread was accompanied by a piece of cheese, and there was even an apple. She watched him as he hungrily gobbled down his food. He wondered if this treat was a sign that she loved him, but there was a sorrowful look on her face, and he couldn't be sure._

_"Off to bed with you," she said as soon as he had finished._

_He wanted to hug her good night, but she looked so distant, he didn't know whether it was a good idea to do so. So instead, he trudged back up the stairs without a word, crawled into his bed, and pulled the covers up to his ears._

_

* * *

_

The dim light of dawn was already filtering through the dirty window pane when Severus Snape resurfaced from his gloomy reverie. It had been years since he had last thought of his mother. He didn't quite know how he felt about her. She was largely to blame for his unhappy lot in life - she, and her poor choice of a husband - but at the same time she had been a victim herself, and falling in _love_ with the wrong man seemed to be a trait most women shared. Remembering the latest example of such foolishness with his face pulled into a sneer, he climbed out of the bath, and cast a drying spell on himself.

As he dressed, he became aware of a small, rounded object in the chest pocket of his robes. He retrieved it, and when he saw what it was, his sneer deepened further. _Felix Felicis – _or liquid luck, as it was also called, was a potion Snape enjoyed making for the challenge it represented, but one he would never dream of using himself, except perhaps in the most desperate circumstances. He had never relied on luck, and that was a good thing, because he had never had any. Luck was something fools believed in. He, on the other hand, had achieved everything in life on skill, cleverness, and hard work alone. Starting from the most unfavourable conditions, he had even made it to Headmaster of Hogwarts, a position he had been more proud of than he cared to admit. His portrait would have joined those of the great and mighty in the Headmaster's Office, where he would have been remembered and respected for all time, if it hadn't been for that same love-sick fool to whom he owed the little bottle in his hand.

He spun around angrily, drawing his wand to vanish the water in the tub along with the potion. But then he saw it and froze. Was it possible that there had been so much blood still in his hair? The water was red.

_The water was red. It was blood, there was blood everywhere, smeared across the tiles, droplets on the floor. A moment ago, he had wandered through the quiet house looking for his mother, eager to tell her about his NEWT results. Seven NEWTs, all Outstanding, with the exception of an 'E' in Ancient Runes, he really should have done her and Slytherin House proud. But the very person he had been looking for was lying lifelessly in the tub, her head dropped to the side, her hair falling lankly onto the floor._

No. Not another trip down memory lane. He pushed those unwelcome images back to the back of his mind where they belonged, but he felt almost physically sick, and was actually glad for the fact that his stomach was empty. He had to get out. He could not bear to be in this house for a moment longer.

He rushed down the stairs, but he had to get all the way out. The front door shut behind him with a thud as he walked onto the street with long, ground covering strides. Outside, the new day had broken, the air was crisp and cool, and the sun was peeping up over the derelict factory buildings in the distance. It was a glorious morning, but Snape had no eyes for it. He was angry. His whole life had been a shambles, and it had all started here – born into poverty, neglected and abused by his own parents, shunned by his arrogant wizard relatives, constantly teased and humiliated by his Hogwarts class mates, ignored by his Head of House and teachers despite his academic excellence - was it any surprise that he had been drawn to the only people ever to give him a sense of recognition? The very people he should have stayed well away from? Even after he had turned his back on the Dark side, he had only been used and manipulated by his so-called allies, while he had never received anything but scorn and ingratitude from those he had risked his life to protect. He had always known that life was not fair, but it was as if the whole world had conspired against him, and he was sick of it, sick of always drawing the shortest straw. He allowed his anger to rise, to engulf all his senses, to focus and amplify through his extended arm and into his wand. As he let go, there was a mighty blow that made the ground tremble under his feet. Brick and mortar could not withstand such magical force, such ill-tempered power. They were torn apart, thrown up in the air in an explosion that could still be heard miles way.

As the dust settled, Snape stood there motionless, staring at the ruins of his childhood home with a sudden feeling of calm. This time, everything would be different. He still held one ace in his hand. And didn't the fact that he had brewed the potion himself make him the architect of his own fortune? That thought alone made its use seem more acceptable to him. In the distance, he could hear the sirens of the Muggle fire brigade approaching. They were coming because of what he had just done, but he would not give them the opportunity to question him. With sudden determination, he pulled the cork off the little bottle in his left, downed its content, and was gone with nothing but a soft pop.

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**A/N: **Still interested? Please take a moment to review and let me know what you think! It might help to make me write faster, too!


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